Flowers For Her Grave
by Shutterbug5269
Summary: Based very loosely on the prompt: "Rick was badly scarred while on a mission with his CIA muse Sophie. He dropped his playboy cover, quit writing and became a recluse. So when the Tisdale murders happen instead of him pulling strings to follow her Kate has to basically drag Castle out of his loft kicking and screaming."
1. Part One: Prologue

**Flowers For Her Grave  
Part One of Three**

* * *

Detective Kate Beckett walked into the crime scene and was immediately struck by a sense of Deja-vu at the scene before her. One she had never actually seen with her own eyes, but had imagined more than once with every re-reading of Richard Castle's "Flowers For Your Grave".

"Who are you?" Kate whispered as she knelt next to the dead woman covered in rose petals, her eyes obscured by sunflowers. Something about the scene felt off, it was just on the fringes of her imagination, but she couldn't place it.

"Alison Tisdale. 24," Esposito replied, as if she'd been asking him. "Grad student at NYU, part of the social work program."

"Nice place for a social worker." Kate replied, she had come from money once herself, but even idf her mother hadn't died and her father gone to the bottle and she'd become a lawyer instead of a cop, she would never have been able to afford a place like this as a grad student.

"Daddy's money," Esposito replied, reading from his notebook. "Neighbors called to complain about the music when she didn't answer they had the super check on..."

"No signs of struggle," Kate replied, "He knew her."

"He even bought her flowers," Dr. Lanie Parish snarked, "Who says romance is dead?"

"So what did he give her besides roses?" Kate replied, not bothering to dignify Lanie's raised eyebrow with a response. Lanie knew she had shied away from a romantic life after Will had given her his ultimatum and left when he didn't like her answer. She lived for her job now. Until her mother could have the justice she deserved, then that was how it will be. She'd settle for finding justice for others.

"Two shots to the chest," Lanie replied, with a tone that said _we will talk about this later,_ "Small caliber."

"Does anything about this scene look familiar to anyone?" Kate asked.

"No," Esposito replied, "but I'm not the one with a thing for freaky ones."

"Oh, but the freaky ones require more," Kate replied, as if she were a guest lecturer at the academy, "They reveal more."

Kate waved her hand at the body on the table.

"Look at how he left her: covered modestly."

"So?" Ryan asked, not sure where their lead detective was going with this. Detective Kate Beckett had an odd, but dogged affinity for figuring out the weird cases. It's why their team always seemed to get the harder, less clearly defined cases. The ones nobody else wanted to touch because they defied any neat box or label to define them.

"So," Kate continued once she had his full attention, "despite all of the effort, all of the preparation, you won't find any evidence of sexual abuse."

"You really get all that from just this?" Esposito asked.

Kate had only been put in charge of their team recently, but they had worked together outside of homicide years ago. Enough that he might ask questions but he never discounted her instincts out of hand like many other cops might after one look at her model quality looks and sky high heels. He had learned years ago that she had a fire in her to solve cases others thought unsolvable, be it Vice or Homicide. She saw things others missed, asked questions others never thought of, it was uncanny.

"This. Plus, I've seen this before," Kate replied

"You've seen it before," Espo replied, hoping this wasn't some cold case serial killer popping back up. He remembered 3XK from back when they were both rookie uniforms. Those crime scenes had not been pretty. "Where?"

"Roses on her body?" Kate asked, noting their blank expressions.

"Sunflowers on her eyes?" she tried again, but still more blank looks.

"Don't you guys read?!" Kate asked. She'd know the scene from "Flowers From your Grave" anywhere, especially after the murder scene two weeks before straight from "Hell Hath No Fury". There was only one man who might have a better grasp of the subtleties of those two crime scenes, their similarities and differences from his books better that she would. It just so happened that she also knew right where he would be, in fact she had planned to attend the launch party for "Storm Fall" before she'd been called to this crime scene, if she put on the gumball she might just make it.

" _Looks like I won't be getting my copy of Storm Fall signed tonight,"_ she thought to herself as she swept out the door, more swiftly than any of the men in the room thought possible in four inch heeled, knee high boots. Richard Castle rarely did personal appearances since the death of his mother five years ago. What might have been her only chance to get what was touted as his final novel signed before he disappeared into reclusive retirement would be stymied by her professional obligations.

* * *

Richard Castle didn't know how he'd let Paula talk him into attending the book launch party for _"Storm Fall"_ He'd only written it because it was the last on his contract she was fully aware that he'd gotten out of the playboy lifestyle for a reason and being out in public made him paranoid, to the extent that he even sent a driver for Alexis when she came home from boarding school.

He'd been out of the spy game for years, Lieutenant Commander Richard Alexander Rodgers, USN turned CIA case officer had ceased to officially exist long before Sophia had turned up in New York to reactivate him and ask for his help, only to turn out to be the very bad guy she had asked him in to help chase. He'd sanctioned Sophie up close and personal, but not before she'd killed his mother and terrorized his daughter which left him scarred emotionally.

At the end of Storm Fall he'd put down Derrick Storm just like he had Sophie, sparing his readers none of the gory details. Double tap to the back of the head... the large messy exit wounds necessitating a closed casket funeral, leaving Clara Strike to carry on alone. Clara had always been more him than Sophie anyway.

Shortly after finishing the book, he'd gone completely dark. He owned the entire third floor on 595 Broome Street and hardly any of his neighbors saw him or knew who he was. He worked out, practiced martial arts surfed the internet, played video games (he preferred Halo and Skyrim Online) and Skyped with Alexis. His IP address, if tracked - and he always assumed it was - would lead back to somewhere south of Tokyo, Japan and even his internet pseudonyms had aliases.

That was his life now, Richard Castle, mystery writer-turned recluse. He was used to it, comfortable with it, even though he knew Alexis didn't approve. When she came home from school to visit he put forth the effort to go out with her. Buried his paranoia deep so she wouldn't see, or worse, worry enough about him to actually come home. He loved his daughter dearly, but she was young enough to still have a life of her own and he didn't want to poison it like he had his, which was - for all intents and purposes - over.

If he didn't go out, didn't engage, kept a very low profile on the grid and stayed well out of the public eye, he wouldn't be seen as a threat to anyone ever again. Alexis - the only personal attachment he had left - would be safe... even from him.

"You know what I hate about these parties?" Castle complained bitterly, only partially lying to her, he'd hated these things even before everything fell apart. He just hated going to them on general principle now. Thankfully, Gina had been honest about keeping the guest list small and this one would be the last.

"They've become so predictable. 'I'm your biggest fan!' ' Where do you get your ideas?'

"And the ever popular, 'Will you sign my "chest"'. Alexis interjected, with air quotes.

"That one I didn't mind so much." Castle quipped back to hide his irritation, he'd quit doing that years ago.

"Yeah, well, FYI, I did." Alexis replied.

"Just once I'd like someone to come up with something new." Castle shot back, though he really wished Paula would just let him be. Let him go back to his loft and disappear. He'd only come to this damn party because Alexis had practically begged him, and he never could tell her no when she gave him the sad puppy eyes.

"Mr. Castle?" a woman's voice said from behind him.

Castle whirled around, sharpie in hand, ready for a new round, never one to be told he did not meet his obligations "Where would you like it?

"Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD," the tall slender, statuesque woman with the red-tinted bob replied, badge in hand, "I need to ask you a few questions about a murder that took place earlier tonight."

"That's new." Alexis quipped darkly, watching the young-looking police detective lead her father away. She repressed a shudder at the thought of what had happened the last time a tall dark-haired woman she didn't know had led her father away. Bad things that she had spent the last five years trying hard to forget, but that woman's voice hissing in Russian was never far from her thoughts. The gun switching from her head to her grams...

" _Choose Richard. Which one lives and which one dies? Who will it be?"_

* * *

 **End Part One. Part two coming soon.**

 **Based loosely on the prompt: " _Rick was badly hurt and scarred while on a mission with his CIA muse Sophie. He dropped his playboy cover, quit writing and became a recluse. So when the Tisdale murders happen instead of him pulling strings to follow her Kate has to basically drag Castle out of his loft kicking and screaming. She's determined to get him back writing and back into life. She somehow forces him to tag along with her."_**

 **I made a few "modifications" to the prompt, went with more emotional scars than physical ones. Part two (and now three) will take us through Flowers For Your Grave with this version of Castle..**


	2. Part Two: Conspiracy

**Flowers For Her Grave  
Part Two of Three**

* * *

Traffic had been unusually light that evening, so they made it to the 12th Precinct in under twenty minutes. It was clear to Castle that he was being given much better treatment than would ordinarily be the case if he were a suspect, even in the United States. The most obvious signs being that he hadn't been handcuffed, nor had he been shown the indignity of riding in the back seat of the detective's car.

In spite of Detective Beckett's best efforts to hide the fact, it was clear to him that she was being almost gentle with him. In his experience female cops tended to be much more aggressive - often more so than necessary - mostly out of a desire to be taken seriously in a male dominated profession like police work. Something Castle - as the father of a teenage daughter struggling to find her own identity - found to be a sad commentary on how much farther women still had to go. Usually the really pretty ones, like Beckett had to work twice as hard for half the respect they were due.

Since it was obvious to him that he wasn't a suspect, it was also abundantly clear that she wanted something else from him. He was fully aware of the technique she was employing by leaving him alone in the room for the subtle softening up of the subject that it was. This was interrogation one oh one and he'd been on both sides of ithe table before, many of which were much more intense than the NYPD was permitted to indulge in. He was intimately familiar with several techniques he could employ to turn this sort of "soft" interrogation back upon the interrogator, (both male and female) but he would let her drive this session for now, at least until he had some idea what she wanted from him.

When Detective Beckett finally re-entered the interrogation room, minus her jacket and gun, it was clear she'd put on her game face. She seemed more rigid than she had been at the launch party, or in her Crown Victoria on the way here. _Clearly posturing for her male co-workers,_ Castle surmised, filing that information for later reference.

"Mr. Castle," Beckett began, "You've got quite a rap sheet for a best-selling author, both for disorderly conduct and resisting arrest."

If she were trying to rattle his cage with the specifics of his former "playboy author on the prowl" persona, she really did have no idea who he actually was, which made him relax a little, but only a fraction.

"Boys will be boys." he muttered back calmly, falling back on the former persona far to easily for his comfort, a smug grin plastered on his face.

"It says here that you stole a police horse?" She tried again. Castle couldn't decide if she were trying to mess with him or not, though her disappointment with some of his alleged "misdeeds" seemed to radiate off of her.

 _A fan perhaps_ he thought to himself, _that would explain her deference earlier and her more aggressive stance now._

"Borrowed," he mumbled back.

"Ah," Beckett replied, _was that amusement in the quirk of her eyebrow?_ "and you were nude at the time."

 _Oh... that one,_ Castle thought to himself. Even he'd rolled his eyes at that one when it had filtered through the media a decade ago. Alexis had been six at the time. He'd been told to stay home and let that one play out. The lookalike had been quite convincing, even his mother had been fooled.

"It was spring," He countered, letting the game continue, hoping his rising discomfort was not showing

"And every time the charges were dropped." Beckett noted.

"What can I say?" He replied more soberly, "That was years ago, and the mayor was a fan. I try to keep things more low profile these days, otherwise my daughter worries about me when she's away at boarding school."

"Mr. Castle," Beckett cut in, "I'm aware that you are a lot more insular than you used to be. Allow me to reassure you that you aren't a suspect, nor are you under arrest, merely a person of interest in a murder investigation. But for background I need to know if you've met or otherwise run into either of these people."

Beckett took a photo out of her file folder and slipped it onto the table, turned so he could see it clearly and offered, "Alison Tisdale. Daughter of real estate mogul, Jonathan Tisdale."

"She's pretty." Castle muttered, he'd never met her before, and suddenly he was beginning to feel a lot more nervous.

"She's dead," Beckett added, "Did you ever meet her? Book signing? Charity event?"

"It's possible, but unlikely," He replied "She's not in my little black book, if that's what you're asking."

Nobody had been in his little black book, even if he'd actually had one, most of the press things attributed to him, both in the actual media and the tabloids had actually been done by a lookalike especially when he'd still been active, but Allison Tisdale seemed a bit young to go that far back. He certainly hadn't met anyone matching her description recently. He rarely left the loft when Alexis wasn't home to drag him out into the world... except for the occasional trip to the cemetery to visit mother.

"What about this guy?" she asked, "Marvin Fisk. Small claims lawyer."

"Most of my claims tend to be on the... large side," he shot back, keeping his facade in place with difficulty, "What's this got to do with me?"

"Fisk was found murdered in his office two weeks ago." she pointed out, "I didn't put it together until I saw the Tisdale crime scene tonight."

She dropped another photo in front of him, a scene he would recognize anywhere even before she'd oriented it for him on the table and suddenly the reason Detective Beckett had sought him out snapped clearly into focus for him with laser precision.

"Flowers For Your Grave," He muttered darkly.

"And this is how we found Marvin Fisk," she added slapping another photo on the table, her own demeanor brightening a fraction as if seeking his approval, "right out of Hall Hath No Fury."

"Looks like I have a fan." Castle offered.

"Yeah, a really deranged fan." she replied, her frown returning. She seemed almost insulted on his behalf that a killer was using his books to dress up crime scenes. She was definitely a fan.

"Oh, you don't look deranged to me." Castle replied, for the first time seeking to derail her train of thought. Everything in him told him to disengage _now_ , not let this case get under his skin, or he wouldn't rest till he had the story. He could already feel the urge tugging at him. A case like this, once it broke to the news media would draw attention attention he he didn't want. He needed to disappear. Go back to the loft, send Alexis back to boarding school where she would be safe and not come out.

The last time he'd drawn this much attention to himself he'd paid a terrible price for it.

"What?" Kate asked, slightly confused.

"Hall Hath No Fury?" he mocked incredulously. "Angry Wiccans out for blood? Only truly hardcore Castle groupies have ever read that one."

"Do any of these _groupies_ ever write you letters?" Beckett asked, trying to get momentum back onto her side, "Disturbing letters?"

"Oh, all my fan mail is disturbing." he replied, "It's an occupational hazard."

 _Especially the photos I was sent of Alexis being dropped off at school five years ago,_ He thought to himself, barely repressing a shudder, _just before she and mother had been taken to keep me off-balance after I suspected Gage was a patsy, not the mole. But you don't need to know that._

"Because, sometimes in cases like this, we find that..." she began but he was on the same tack as her.

"...The killer attempts to..." they both said at the same time, making Beckett trail off.

"...contact the subject of his obsession," Castle finished, using every trick he knew to keep Kate off balance now "I'm also pretty well versed in psychopathic methodologies. Another occupational hazard."

"So I take it you won't have any objection to us going through your mail?" She asked.

"Knock yourself out." I'll call Paula's office and tell her to expect you. She handles all of the mail that's been tagged as _suspicious_ ".

Before Detective Beckett could say any more, Castle dropped the business card for his agent on the table and rose to his feet.

"Now, as you have so generously pointed out that I'm not under arrest, I think we're done here. If you have any further questions, please address them to Paula Haas."

With that, he was out the door and out of the precinct without another word.

* * *

Alexis was at wit's end. It was nearly midnight and her father hadn't called. She'd been pacing the loft like a caged animal, torn between going to look for him, but had rejected that idea, as she had no clue what precinct the mysterious "Detective Beckett" worked out of. Only that she had lead her father away from her and out the door.

She was a lot of things, but she was not a fool. She knew how much he hated going out these days and why. She even knew why he had sent her to boarding school in London. He blamed himself for what happened to her and Grams and didn't want her to watch him self destruct because of it. She understood that keenly enough. He had always been something of an attention-seeking social butterfly up until five years ago, but now he was withdrawing from both his writing and his life.

She wanted to help him, but didn't know how to get through to him.

When the lock finally turned and the front door opened, signaling her father's return to the loft from the 12th Precinct, she practically launched herself at him.

"Aren't you up pretty late?" Castle asked softy after setting her down form the bone crushing hug "Don't you turn into a pumpkin after midnight?"

"Not when my dad's been escorted away by cops." she whispered, getting snarky now that he was home, apparently none the worse for wear, "How was the slammer? Anyone make you their bitch?"

"Sorry, Switchblade," Castle replied on his way to the kitchen, slipping into their usual banter a little too readily for Alexis' liking, "I still belong to you. Want something to drink?"

"Already brushed." Alexis deadpanned, before her face turned solemn while her father finished rummaging through the fridge for a can of soda "So are you going to tell me about it or do I have to look it up on the fan sites?"

"We had a deal," Her father replied sternly, "Stay off the fan sites."

"Seriously dad," she shot back, worry and a little fear edging into her tone, "are you in some sort of trouble?"

"Despite my best efforts, no," Castle replied, "They want my help on a case."

"A case?" Alexis whispered, that was almost word for word what that other dark haired woman had said, the one who had killed Grams and left her there in the room cuffed to a chair three feet away to watch as she bled out.

"Apparently, somebody's been killing people the way I've killed them in my books." He replied.

"That's horrible." Alexis whispered. She knew of all the things this could have been, that was the worst possible one. Something more for her dad to feel guilty about, that his books were being used to to hurt people, that he'd feel he was spreading even more misery around and he would only withdraw further from the world.

But in the midst of her fear, she also saw opportunity. This was something her father could fix - provided he could be convinced to engage at all - something he could make right and maybe find enough peace that he might be willing to return to the world. Maybe even see that he still had something of value to contribute to the world, at least enough to stop hiding from it.

"How many?" She asked.

"Two, so far." he replied as he knelt by the bookshelf to retrieve the two books in question

"Are you okay?" she asked again, hoping he wouldn't withdraw.

"Yeah," he replied, setting "Flowers for Your Grave" and "Hell Hath No Fury" on his desk before turning to look at her, " It's just so senseless."

"Murder usually is." Alexis whispered, blinking back tears, her fists so tight at her sides she nearly drew blood from her palms to keep the image of her grams lying dead at her feet, her sightless eyes staring up at nothing. That way lay madness. Her father was alive and she needed to keep it together.

"No," Castle replied, "murder usually makes a great deal of sense, at least to somebody, either for passion, greed or politics. What's so senseless here is the books the killer chose. "Hell Hath No Fury?" "Flowers for Your Grave?" My truly lesser works. Why would a psychotic fan pick those to get attention instead of one of the more widely read ones?"

"Maybe because he's psychotic?" Alexis whispered, "C'mon, it's bedtime. I have to get on a plane in a couple of days. We can figure it out in the morning."

* * *

" _Choose Richard." Sophia Turner asked coldly on the closed circuit TV screen in Russian, the gun moving from Martha's temple to Alexis', eliciting a whimper of fear from the nine year old, "Which one lives and which one dies? Who will it be?"_

" _Don't you touch her, you bitch!" Martha screeched at the woman pressing the gun to Alexis' temple, tugging so hard on the handcuffs holding her to the chair than she drew blood from her wrists._

 _Only he couldn't choose, the words wouldn't come, his brain vapor locked at the very thought of choosing between his mother and his daughter. A choice no human should ever be asked to make._

" _Can't decide, huh?" Sophia mocked, switching to unaccented English. "I guess it's ladies' choice then."_

 _Sophia turned and fired two shots followed by a flash of light..._

* * *

Castle woke with a start, sitting up behind his desk, his lesser known books, pre-Derrick Storm strewn across its surface. He'd been up most of the night trying to find a connection between his older novels and their killer. The case had its hooks in him now, he could feel the craving deep in his soul, but the idea of putting himself out there stopped him in his tracks.

He had to protect Alexis at all costs, he couldn't afford to fail her like he had failed his mother. If that meant walking away from this case, then he would do it. Once he had screwed on his resolve, he slowly, methodically put the books away and cleaned up his desk before finally going to bed.

* * *

The next morning, Kate Beckett strode off the elevator into the 12th Precinct's Homicide squadroom, a bankers box of hardcover Richard Castle novels from her own private collection in her hands, clutched almost protectively to her chest, the oldest of which, - many personally signed to her mother - were among her most dearly cherished possessions from the dark period after her mother's murder.

They had been her lifeline to pull herself up from the ashes of the life that had been been before January 9th, 1999 to the life she had built for herself now. If Richard Castle could not find it within himself to help her solve this murder, this blight on his words that had save her soul which she'd held nearly sacred since, then those same words would have to do so for him... if she had to cram them into Ryan and Esposito's heads with a crowbar.

"What are those?" Ryan asked as she rounded the corner and approached the two desks belonging to himself and Esposito.

"These books are Castle's greatest hits," Kate began, Including the two already referenced by the Fisk and Tisdale crime scenes. "You two are gonna familiarize yourself with each and every one of the murder scenes in these books so we don't miss anything when this guy strikes again."

"Got any on tape?" Esposito asked, with a wink toward his partner who laughed at his lighthearted nonsequitor.

"Our first victim, male lawyer. Second victim, female social worker." Kate shot back, all business and clearly not amused in the slightest by their lack of enthusiasm "Somewhere in these books, those two are connected, possibly to somebody else."

Ryan took the first book off the top and opened the cover to read the fancy nameplate inside.

"From the library of Katharine Beckett." he mocked good naturedly.

"Do you have a problem with reading, Ryan?" Kate shot back indignantly, for the first time in years wishing she had longer hair to hide her rising blush.

"Yo, check it, girl," Esposito quipped, "you're totally a fan!"

"Right," Beckett replied, regaining her composure, "Of the genre."

"Riiiiiiiight," Ryan mocked again lightly. "Of the genre. That's why you're blushing."

Kate yanked the book out of his hand and applied her best death glare, which stopped Ryan in his tracks with a gulp, sure in the knowledge that he had overstepped. Cop humor aside, nobody was mocked Castle's books in her presence. She'd barely tolerated it from the man himself the night before.

"What, are you twelve?" she scolded, back to business, "Profiling indicates a perp with low intelligence, someone who has - or thinks he has - a personal relationship with our author. So that's where we start."

Kate started back to her desk, fighting the childish urge to snatch up the box of Castle's books and hide them someplace safe, where they would be cherished as the personal keepsakes they are, instead of used to mock her now, barely noticing that Esposito had followed her back to her desk.

"What?" she snapped at him. Her love of Richard Castle's books was one of the few soft spots she had left, she'd shed all of the others since joining the NYPD after two years at NYU. She needed time to recover from the two of them poking at it with sticks just now.

"I work dead bodies all day," he muttered, coming at her with a lot more respect than he had earlier, "the last thing I wanna do when I get home is read murder books."

"Aren't you curious?" Kate replied softly, her voice low to avoid the ears of the rest of the precinct. It still felt weird to be younger than most of the detectives in the room, and yet their direct superior in rank. She'd only been detective first for a few weeks.

"Curious?" Esposito asked, noting her tone as he sat in the chair next to her desk.

"About how people can do these kinds of things to one another?" she replied, "Whoever did this read Castle's books, and somewhere in those pages might be the answer to where he'll strike next."

"Detective Beckett." Captain Roy Montgomery stated clearly from the door of his office, sending Esposito scurrying back to his own desk to fish out one of Castle's books from the box without further comment.

"Captain?" she replied, "Yes, sir?"

"I have a concerned citizen in my office who would like to speak with you about your investigation." Montgomery added, waving for her toward his office door.

Kate rose from her desk, rounded the corner and entered Captain Montgomery's office to find a fresh-faced young redhead, who looked little older than fifteen sitting in the chair opposite from the captain.

"Miss Castle here," he noted by way of introduction, "would like to help clear up a misunderstanding that occurred between you and her father last night, along with a suggestion that might help with your investigation."

"Miss Castle?" Kate began, but was politely cut off.

"Please," Alexis replied, "call me Alexis."

"Alexis," Kate corrected, "how can you help me investigate two murders dressed up like your father's books?"

"My father wants to help you," Alexis replied, "what this... person is doing bothers him more than he likely let on to you last night, but he won't volunteer or offer his assistance."

Alexis paused to gather herself, clearly fighting to get the words out as a single tear tracked down her cheek. Clearly what she had to say, was being forced out with great difficulty. Kate handed her a tissue from the box on Montgomery's desk and waited her out.

"The... last time he was called in to help with a case by somebody from the State Department," she husked after composing herself, " my grandmother and I were... abducted and my grams was... she was... murdered right in front of me."

Alexis broke down into a short bout of sniffles, then battled back to add, "Dad still blames himself... for...what happened. It's... it's why he killed off Derrick Storm and retired from writing. Why he withdrew from the world... stays in the loft and refuses to go anywhere when I'm not home to make him go out."

"If he won't volunteer to help," Kate asked softly, the girl's story, so similar to her own tugging at her heartstrings in a way nothing else could, "how am I supposed to secure his cooperation?"

"Don't give him a choice, Detective. Tell him it is a matter of the utmost urgency." Alexis parroted what _"Sophia"_ had said to her father all those years ago nearly word for word.

"I don't know if that's exactly ethical, Miss Castle." Kate replied.

"Do you want my dad's help or not, Detective?" Alexis retorted with a sliver of steel in both her voice and spine for the first time since she'd arrived. "I'm sure you and your teammates out there are very good at your jobs, but none of you could _possibly_ know my dad's books a _fraction_ as well as he does, which might be the key to catching that psycho out there. One of the lives you save might just be his."

Alexis stopped for a second to compose herself again, then whispered, "Dad's slowly losing himself, every time I come home from boarding school... I can feel he's slipped further and further away. I can't lose him too... he's all I've got left. If helping you can get him out of the self-imposed prison he's locked himself in, then ethics be damned."

"Considering the nature of the crime scenes," Captain Montgomery interjected, laying a comforting hand on Alexis' shoulder, "I think it's a good idea. Type up a material witness warrant if you need to, I'll run it by Judge Markaway and get him to sign off on it."

It was clear from his tone that this was not a request, but an order.

What neither Kate nor Alexis knew, was that he, Mayor Weldon and Judge Markaway had been playing poker with Richard Castle for years... until he'd suddenly pulled away five years ago. None of them had ever known why, but now that he knew it was this bad, he felt it was time for the _"Gotham Crew"_ to step up to the plate. He'd have done no less for any one of them, once upon a time.

"Sir, can I talk to you for a minute," Kate asked, "In private?"

"Nope." Montgomery replied, "Dismissed, Beckett, please see Miss Castle out and make arrangements for a uniform to drive her home."

 _'Unethical?'_ Roy Montgomery thought to himself as Beckett escorted Alexis Castle from his office and down the hall to the elevator, ' _I've done a hell of a lot worse in my day, some of which Beckett would never forgive me for if she knew. This may not balance the scales for all the shit I've done, but it's something I can live with.'_

* * *

 _ ****Author's Note** Yes I know I said this was only going to be a two part story, but I guess it will be upgraded to three parts. Part one: the introduction, Part tow the run up to Castle's involvement in the case, and Part three the case itself.**_

 _ **This seemed like a good place to leave off and since I've moved to my apartment I wanted to put something out there while I'm sorting out the rest of my furniture.**_

 _ **Enjoy**_


	3. Part Three: Conclusion

**Part Three of Three**

* * *

The following day, Kate Beckett appeared at the door of Castle's building. Flashing her badge and announcing herself got her past the outer door and the security desk, though she was certain the doorman, who's name badge read "Eduardo" would have called upstairs in spite of her admonition not to warn the reclusive author she was coming had she not stationed Ryan and Esposito to prevent him from doing so.

At first there had been no answer when she knocked. Kate hadn't seen lights coming from the third floor, but someone with Richard Castle's money and apparent level of paranoia could esily have had the windows tinted enough to not let light out.

She heard harsh, hushed whispers from behind the door, but before she could raise her hand to knock again, it swung open to reveal Alexis Castle, who shot a wink and an eye roll at her before stepping aside.

"Richard Castle" Kate's commanding voice rang out, "I have been ordered to take you into protective custody as a material witness in the murders of Allison Tisdale and Marvin Fisk."

An hour later the two of them sat in the same interrogation room as last night, surrounded by stacks of his fan mail from the "suspicious/ potentially dangerous, do not answer" file cabinet that Paula kept carefully documented. Castle kept shooting looks at her from the corner of her eye as he glanced at letters from some of his less coherent fans.

After the third time, it became apparent we wasn't going to initiate the conversation it was clear he wanted to have.

"What?" Beckett grumped, finally tired of the game.

"Can I ask you a question?" Castle asked.

"Shoot." Kate replied.

"Why am I here? I thought I made it clear last night I didn't want to be involved. Yeah, it bothers me that this guy is aping my books, but it isn't my job to bring this guy to justice, so I don't see why it's necessary to drag me out of my home in front of my daughter on her last weekend before she goes back to school, bring me all the way here and compel my involvement with a warrant signed by an old poker buddy of mine."

"I need you here for the story." Kate replied.

"The story?" Castle asked, bewildered. He'd never known an actual cop who cared about the story before. That usually only happened in his books.

"Why those people?" Kate asked, "Why those murders? Why those books?"

"Sometimes, there is no story," Castle added darkly, though in his heart he knew it wasn't true, he wanted answers to those very same questions, "Sometimes the guy is just a psychopath."

"There's always a story," Kate replied. "Always a chain of events that makes everything make sense."

Kate had offered him an opening, though he'd hoped it hadn't been necessary. He didn't really want to hurt her, he wasn't that sort of guy, but he'd done his research on Kate Beckett in databases he was certain the detective didn't know existed. If this is what it took to push her away so she'd leave him be, then so be it.

"If that were true, my dear detective," he began, keeping his tone light and jovial, "then under normal circumstances, you should not be here. Most smart, good-looking women become lawyers, not cops and, yet, here you are. Why?"

"I don't know, Rick," Kate replied smugly, not realizing the trap she was falling into, "You're the novelist. You tell me."

"Well, you're not Bridge and Tunnel," he began, starting with the basics to draw her in, "no trace of the boroughs when you talk, so that means Manhattan. That means money. You went to college. Probably a pretty good one. You had options. Better options. More socially acceptable options. And you still chose this."

It was clear that Kate still thought she had the upper hand. She thought she knew him, but she really didn't. He knew how to go for the jugular when he had to. She was about to get an education in how much of a bastard he can be, even if he did hate himself for doing it

"That tells me something happened," he continued, clearly getting her attention. "Not to you, you're wounded, but you're not that wounded. It was someone you cared about. It was someone you loved."

When Kate's smug facade began to melt away her expression softened and her bottom lip began to quiver, it was clear he'd struck the nerve he'd been looking for, "And you probably could have lived with that, but the person responsible was never caught."

His conscience finally caught up to his mouth when it appeared that she was on the verge of tears. He'd had more, could have gone further, but it was clear that he'd done enough and needed to back off. He could be a bastard if needed, but he wasn't a monster, so he chose to stop rather than carry out his psych warfare to its natural conclusion.

"And, that Detective Beckett, is why you're here."

"Cute trick." Kate replied, her voice wavering, "But don't think you know me."

"The point is," Castle replied, yes, there's always a story, you just might not like it when you find it."

"Like it or not," Kate replied, finding her control again, "I think I just did."

She showed him a letter on the yellow paper from a legal pad. The scene from "Flowers For Her Grave drawn on it in careful detail, scrawled with handwriting clearly written by a man in the throes of a manic episode. Their encounter almost forgotten in the moment of discovery of a clue, their eyes meeting with the same grip of nearly electric excitement, before Castle dropped his gaze.

* * *

An hour later, Kate was sitting at her desk, on the phone with the crime lab, most over her responses monosyllabic and some peppered with sotto voce expletives. She'd shown Rick where to sit earlier , went to the ladies room to gather up her composure then returned to find him sitting quietly when the lab had called, his eyes apparently taking in the objects littering her desk while she was on the phone, including her mother's elephants. It was clear that he was avoiding eye contact with her again. She hung up the phone a moment later, her expression unreadable. Castle wasn't sure if it was good news bad news or a combination of the two.

"Lab's got lifts off the letter." She announced.

"Did they say whose?" Castle asked. Since it was clear that despite his best efforts to drive her away she had no intention of letting him off the hook until this case was over, he would need to at least try to get with the program.

"The system's backlogged," she replied with a shrug, "it'll take a week to run a match."

"A week?!" Castle asked. This was unacceptable to him, he could not be out in public for that long. Steps would have to be taken to get this wrapped up.

"Welcome to reality, superstar." Kate snarked back.

"Well, time to open you up to a new reality." He replied, taking out his secure cell phone before slipping away from them to a more quiet corner.

"Open channel D" he muttered into the phone. Though this was the real world, not _"The Man From U.N.C.L.E."_ he hadn't been able to resist that as his code to unlock the more secure options on the direct line to his handler.

Though it sounded for all the world like a conversation with a receptionist he was actually transferring information from his phone to the secure server it was attached to.

"Man's got the mayor on speed dial," Esposito muttered to Kate, "The rich really are different."

When Castle returned to where they sat, he offered only a single terse explanation for his five minute whispered conversation.

"You'll have your prints in an hour."

"Mr. Castle? Half of the guys here are waiting for prints; you don't just jump the line." Kate sputtered, shocked. "We have procedure. Protocol."

Before the conversation could go further, another detective stopped in front of her desk and stated,  
"Beckett. Mid-town, they just found another one."

* * *

Beckett and Castle stepped under the crime scene tape and into the apartment complex swimming pool where their next victim was discovered, floating face down in the middle of the swimming pool in a yellow prom dress, a knife sticking out of her back. The two of them whispered in near perfect unison,

" _Death Of A Prom Queen"_

"Maintenance found her an hour ago," Esposito noted, "Kendra Pitney, she lives in the building."

"All right, let's get her out of the water." Kate ordered, Um, Castle, stay here, and don't touch anything.

Once the crime scene photos were taken, Kendra Pitney's mortal remains were removed from the pool, the knife was collected and placed in an evidence bag. Kate was busy talking to some of the other detectives and uniforms doing the canvas and initial interviews as Rick slipped closer and knelt directly across the body from Lanie Parrish - who was busy checking the victim's hands and taking scrapings under her fingernails - until she finally noticed he was there and cleared her throat.

"Richard Castle," he offered without offering his hand, knowing she couldn't reciprocate the gesture, "I was called in to consult on the crime scenes."

"Richard Castle, the author?" Lanie asked, clearly not impressed with the idea of a civilian at her crime scene

"Once upon a time, on my better days" he replied.

"Lanie Parish, medical examiner," she offered, finally putting the name and face together and gushed, "It's a shame you aren't writing anymore, I love your books. You have a real gift for the details of death."

"I thought I told you to stay over there?" Beckett asked, showing more irritation than she actually felt. Inside her heart leaped at the thought that he might actually be getting interested in the case. Clearly his daughters' assessment had been right on the mark.

"You wanted my help," Castle replied diplomatically, "I'm helping."

"You got a C.O.D.?" she asked Lanie, settling into her role as lead detective.

"Not until I do the full exam," Lanie replied, "but it certainly wasn't by stabbing or exsanguination."

"Lack of blood around the wound and in the water" Castle noted without prompting, "suggests she was dead before it was inserted. No foam around the mouth, so she wasn't drowned."

"Oh, you're good." Lanie offered before prompting him to continue.

"Yeah, she was killed first then brought here and posed, just like the others."

"Yeah, I know," Kate stated, "Can I have a word?"

When she'd pulled him far enough from the body, and her friend the medical examiner, she said  
"When I give you an order, I expect you to obey it."

"Then you don't know me very well," he replied, "not to mention, in my book the dress was blue."

"Don't try to change the subject." Kate stated coldly, as much as she wanted Castle involved, she didn't like having her authority questioned.

"Did Tisdale and Fisk know each other?" Castle pressed. He didn't have time to play personalities. As much as he appreciated Beckett's tenacity, he didn't have time to play games. If he was going to have to help solve this murder to get back to his life in exile, than that was what he would do.

"We haven't found a connection. Why?" she asked.

"What about motive?" he asked again.

"He's a serial killer," Kate shot back as her cell phone rang "he doesn't need motive "

She pulled out her cell phone and answered it

"They got a match off the print. Kyle Cabot. He's in Brooklyn. We got him."

* * *

As the group walked up the stairs to Kyle Cabot's apartment, Kate wheeled around and pressed a hand to Castle's chest as he moved to follow them, his hand reaching for a sidearm that wasn't there.

"Stay here," she orderd.

"Scout's honor." Castle replied, knowing he had no intention of keeping that promise. Other than the motto, Boy Scouts didn't last long in the teams or in the CIA. They tended to play fair and that could get people killed. They either learned to adapt or they were out.

Kate and the other detectives put on their body armor and waited quietly at his door till Kate got the signal that ESU was in place on the fire escape to keep him from going out the window before Kate pounded on the door.

"Kyle Cabot, this is the NYPD! Open the door!"

Kate kicked the door in and entered

As the rest of the NYPD tactical unit cleared the room, Kate noticed the book covers and newspaper clippings on his living room desk, she pulled one of Richard Castle's books off the shelves to find scrawled drawings on the pages and manic writings in the margins, clearly Castle's worst nightmare of a fan.

"Beckett, you gotta see this." said one of the other detectives, walking through the door to reveal Cabot's shrine to all things Richard Castle.

"I was never a scout." Castle stated behind them in a harsh whisper, making Beckett jump slightly.

Kate did her best to pull him away from his perusal of Cabot's the wall mural, his eyes wide with both guilt and horror as Esposito lifted up a blouse likely belonging to Allison Tisdale, along with a small caliber handgun. Moments later they heard a loud banging coming from the bedroom closet. When the door was yanked open, Kyle Cabot was found inside pounding his head against the wall.

Beckett tried for nearly an hour to interrogate Kyle but he wasn't speaking, in fact it was all she could do to keep him from pounding his head into the wall. Her heart and her mind at war with heach other. He met the profile for their killer to a tee, but something felt off.

"He's still not speaking," Kate stated with irritation when she walked out of interrogation room one, "State medical records indicate he has pervasive developmental disorder."

"Well that explains his fixation with me," Castle replied, "PDD sometimes manifests as an obsession with a single subject."

"Yeah, well, your super fan also has a history of delusions," she replied before turning to Montgomery, "Guess who his social worker was."

"Alison Tisdale." Montgomery replied.

"Yeah," Beckett replied, "Her files indicate he was on some pretty heavy anti-psychotics"

"Limited intelligence," Montgomery recited, ticking on his fingers as if nailing Kyle Cabot's coffin shut with them, "thinks he has a personal relationship with his hero, looks like the profile was right, Detective Beckett."

"So, what? That's it?" Castle asked, as much as he wanted this to be over, he wasn't sure if he wanted it this way.

"What more do you want?" Montgomery interjected, "Evidence is in his apartment, we can connect him with all three victims. Two from the diner where he worked, and Tisdale was his social worker. Call the D.A. Get him legal aid."

"This is too easy, too neat," Castle replied, not believing he was the one saying it. "There's something more going on here."

"It's not one of your books, Castle." Kate offered, "We find a guy standing over a body with a gun, he's usually the guy who did it."

Castle, however thought differently. He had studied the profiles of too many killers with this man's condition for his books, for that theory to wash. Too many of the little details in the crime scenes were obviously wrong. Details Cabot - if he'd done it - would have obsessed to near distraction over getting precisely right. _Everything_ would have been exactly like it was in his books. No deviations, no shortcuts. He knew they had the wrong man, that the killer was still out there.

The question he kept asking himself all the way home was: Could he live with himself if he simply walked away and let an innocent man go to prison for three murders while the guilty party walked free?

* * *

Kate Beckett walked into the precinct the following morning to find Castle sitting at her desk, looking through the files in her "out" box. She'd written up her DD-5's the night before and had waited to sign them until now. Something about what Castle had said before Montgomery thanked him for his help and showed him out kept whispering in the back of her mind. She needed to silence them before she could sign her name and walk away.

Castle - up until last night anyway - had just wanted to get this whole thing over with so he could go home and be left in peace, had insisted something was off, even though it meant being dragging this out even longer, resonated with her and she'd chosen to leave her signature off and sleep on it.

When she cleared her throat he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Why are you still here?" Kate asked while Castle was getting his breathing back under control. It was clear that he was incredibly uncomfortable.

"I... uhm... just came by to give you this," he said, pressing a rather nice looking gift box into her hands. "A little something to memorialize our brief partnership and apologize for hurting your feelings the other day. When I saw you weren't here I was looking for a post-it to leave you a note."

Castle seemed to find his composure at her dubious expression, her gaze flipping between the box in her hands and his eyes.

"Don't look so suspicious," he added, "go on, open it."

Beckett opened the box to find a copy of Storm Fall inside.

"I got you one of the nice, high gloss ones we were giving out at the press event, even signed it to you," he muttered sheepishly. "Not that you're a fan."

Kate had heart palpitations. She'd meant to go to the party to get her copy signed, hers had come by private messenger along with her invitation to the event, which was why security had no idea a cop had turned up at there. She'd used the invitation from the drawing she'd won on the Black Pawn website.

"Thanks," Kate said when she found her voice, "that's actually kinda... sweet."

"I don't say this very often anymore," Castle said, for once meaning every word, "but it was nice to have met you, Detective Beckett."

With that he kissed her on the cheek and walked out the door, Kate's eyes following him all the way out, with a shocked expression on her face. When she regained her composure at his sweet gesture and the chaste kiss on the cheek, her brain returned to the tableau she'd witnessed just before she announced herself. Her pens and post-its sitting very clearly next to her phone where she always kept them.

"He didn't, he wouldn't." She muttered as she rifled through her out-box files, "Oh, he did!" she nearly shrieked indignantly before picking up her desk phone, but he'd already made it out of the building before she could have him stopped.

* * *

Castle was sitting in a private room in the New York Public Library looking over the files from the three murders, photocopied sections of the crime scenes from his books scattered about the table with scribbled notations in them denoting the inconsistencies with the crime scenes. They were all so sure they had the right guy because of the arbitrary rule of thumb that three such killings meant a serial killer. That it had to be somebody of "limited intelligence" like Kyle Cabot. So sure in fact that they had overlooked things Kyle would not have.

The Tisdale crime scene had been elaborately staged and carried out, while the other two had appeared to be half-assed. Serials rituals tended to get more organized, not less with each killing. If Cabot had targeted his therapist – the only person trying to actually help him – he would have killed her last and gotten every last detail of the scene exactly right. Including the type of rose petals, his description of the scene had been quite specific.

So laser precise was his focus on the case files and his notes, he took little notice of his surroundings. (He had been a very dedicated analyst after his active field days came to a screeching halt and the CIA was deciding whether to retire him or not. Bad intel could get field operatives killed, so he'd been detail oriented nearly to a fault. His supervisors had occasionally had to remind him to stop for meals) Caste hadn't noticed the angry clacking of high heels across the hardwood floor until Beckett was nearly upon him.

"Richard Castle," Beckett barked, making Castle jump, "you are under arrest for felony theft and obstruction of justice."

"Obstruction implies that I intend to subvert justice, not see to it justice is done," Castle retorted, "I really thought you were different."

"You know, for a minute there, you actually made me believe that you were human," Beckett shot back, nodding to the uniforms flanking her, "Cuff him."

"How did you find me anyway?" he asked while they cuffed and searched him, he'd been very careful about turning off his cell phone.

"I'm a detective, that's what I do." She replied.

"Alexis told you, didn't she?" he asked, then added his parting shot as they led him away, "By the way, the rose petals in the Tisdale murder were grandiflora not hybrid teas."

"I'll make a note of it." Beckett replied, too angry to really hear him.

"If finding the real killer is really that important to you, then you probably should," he shot back, "since it means Kyle Cabot is innocent."

* * *

After nearly an hour sitting in lockup, the cell door finally swung open to reveal a uniform who lead him back out into the squad room, to be met by Captain Montgomery, Detective Beckett and Alexis _'who should have been on a plane to London two hours ago'_ he thought to himself.

"Thank you officer," Montgomery stated to the uniform, indicating for him to release Castle from the handcuffs after which he was hugged by his daughter.

"Hello, Father." She whispered before burying her face in his chest.

"Hello, Daughter." Castle whispered into her hair as if seeing her, truly taking her in, for the first time in years.

"They have agreed to drop the charges," Alexis whispered, "if you agree to behave."

"No more interference with this case, Mr. Castle," Montgomery scolded, "Do we understand each other?"

"Yeah," he replied, "but you still have the wrong guy."

* * *

Shortly after Castle and his daughter were escorted out to their waiting town car, Kate found herself sitting at her desk staring at the murder board, which she had only half succeeded in taking down, mulling over what he'd told her told her for the first time and finally seeing what he was trying to tell her. Realizing for the first time that she'd nearly done to Kyle Cabot what Detective Raglan had done with her mother's case. Taken the easy way out by pushing all of the pieces into a box too small to hold them...all because she wanted to show up her favorite author.

"Nah. No-no-no, don't tell me he got to you." Esposito exclaimed when he saw her staring at the murder board like she always did when the pieces didn't fit, looking over Castle's notes.

"Please, he didn't get to me," _'Liar!'_ the little voice in her head exclaimed as she nodded at Allison's photo on the board. "She did."

"Who?" Esposito asked, "Alison?"

"Marvin Fisk, first murder," she began, ticking on her fingers, once more sounding like her instructor at the academy, "Kyle knew him from the diner. Then he kills Alison, his social worker, and then he kills Kendra Pitney, also from the diner."

"So?" Esposito asked, still not buying it

"So," she continued, "he starts with a murder of convenience, escalates to a murder of someone he knows _very_ well, then goes back to a murder of convenience. It doesn't make any sense."

* * *

In the towncar on the way back to the loft from the precinct, Castle is explaining to Alexis what he'd found so far. Though Alexis feigned irritation at having to bail her father out of jail, she secretly rejoiced. This was the most present and animated she'd seen her father in years.

"Somebody set up Kyle to take the fall," he muttered, "Somebody, who knew enough about his fixation with me to use it to get away with murder. That means we're not looking for a serial killer, we're looking for a good-old-fashioned murderer. Someone with motive."

"You think the victims were somehow related," she replied, playing along. _If this is what it takes to truly get him back,_ she thought to himself, _then let him have at it._

"Detective Beckett would have found another connection between them by now," he replied, "Now, if we're talking an A-B-C style series of murders, the killer would only have wanted one of the victims dead. He would have killed the other ones just to cover up the crime,"

"How do you get away with one murder by committing two more?" Alexis asked, confused.

"With one murder you look for motive," he replied. "After the second murder, you look for a connection. After three, you look for someone like Kyle. You don't need a solid motive because serial killers don't usually have one."

* * *

Meanwhile at the precinct, Kate continues to lay out her reasoning to Esposito.

"Castle's right," she admits, "If a guy like Cabot was trying to follow his books, then the roses on Alison's body were wrong, Fisk should have been suffocated by a plastic bag, not strangled with a necktie, and Kendra's dress should have been blue, not yellow. For an obsessive, like him, it would have been impossible not to get the details right."

"Well, if it wasn't him, then who was it?" Esposito asked.

Meanwhile in the towncar, stopped at an intersection:

"The killer had to have known both his intended victim and Kyle fairly well," Castle continued. "The only victim that had any real knowledge of Kyle's obsessive condition would have been Alison Tisdale.

* * *

Precinct

"Alison's the key," Kate replied, "she's the one the killer is trying to hide."

"As far as we know," Esposito offered, "she wasn't seeing anyone and none of her other case files fit the profile."

"Well, somebody had to know something about her." she insisted

* * *

Back in the towncar, turning onto Broome Street

"So if the killer found out about Kyle through Alison," Castle theorized, "then Alison must have been the intended target. Somebody wanted Alison dead. I just have to figure out why."

"Dad," Alexis snarked, only half joking, "If I have to keep bailing you out, I'll have to move back home and you're going to have to raise my allowance... by a lot."

* * *

The next morning in the Manhattan office for Jonathan Tisdale, Castle checked his look in the mirror finish of the tinted windows before walking up to the reception desk, noting one of his books sticking out of her purse on the coat tree behind her desk. He wasn't exactly business appropriate, but he had made himself presentable after a long night of database and Google searches. It was clear when she looked up that she recognized him but tried to hide it.

"Hi, I'm Rick Castle," he said, using his best book signing smile, "I have an appointment to see Mr. Tisdale."

"Yes. Mr. Castle," the receptionist replied, not even needing to look at the calendar on her blotter, her smile a little too bright, "He's expecting you."

"Is he, now?" Detective Beckett asked, flashing her badge as she walked past the reception desk. The smug grin from the other day back on her face.

"This is not what it looks like...this..." Castle spluttered as she walked past him to Jonathan Tisadale's door, "Okay, this is exactly what it looks like, but I can explain."

Kate stopped and half turned to see Castle still rooted to the spot in front of the reception desk.  
"You comin'?"

* * *

Kate had asked the standard questions about possible enemies, both hers and his, but had come up dry, only Castle kept pushing, kept asking questions she had thought about, but rejected, about his finances, his will, things she hadn't thought pertinent at the time. The man had just lost his daughter and she didn't want to push too hard. She'd been on the other side of this discussion once upon a time and knew how badly it hurt. She couldn't understand why Castle was so dogged, so willing to press the man, however.

"What was that all about?" she asked.

"He's dying," Castle noted, he'd seen the signs before, knew how to assess people who tried to hide things from him. One of his sources when he'd been active had been in the same boat as Tisdale.

"Who's dying?" Kate asked, incredulously, "Tisdale? What makes you think he's dying?"

"See those pictures in his office?" he offered by way of explanation. "He's much thinner now. Sick thin, not work out thin and the way he kept touching his hair, like he's self-conscious.

"He was wearing a piece?"

"It's a good one," Castle noted, "better than most, but it's new to him. Chemo must have been relatively recent. He was wearing make up."

"So he's got cancer, that doesn't mean he's terminal." she shot back.

"But it would make a much more sense if he is." he noted, "You interview the brother?"

"There was never a reason to." Kate replied, trying to hide her embarrassment that she hadn't covered all of her bases, which wasn't like her. ' _If Raglan had been more diligent, mom's killer would be behind bars'_

"Well, now there is."

* * *

On their way back to her cruiser after they had interviewed Harrison Tisdale, who had seemingly alibied out, his passport doing all of the talking for him, Castle was crestfallen. He was certain it had to be Allison's brother. He had motive, means, access to the victim, even knew Cabot's history because of Allison's attempt to get the man a job so he could afford his meds. Everything fit until until he showed them his passport and it's visa stamps showing he had been out of the country.

"I was sure it was him," Castle sighed

"Oh don't take it so hard," Kate offered, shooting him a reassuring wink when the boys weren't looking, she had seen him brighten up more in the last few hours than she'd seen since she'd showed up at the launch party. "After all, you're just a writer."

"What?" Castle asked, not able to process the mixed feelings she was giving him.

"Oh, come on," Kate stated. "Of course he's lying. I get him knowing where he was the night of his sister's murder, but the other two victims? He didn't pause. He didn't ask for dates. He didn't even check his calendar, but he was ready with an alibi. In my experience, innocent people do not prepare alibis."

"So according to his credit card, Tisdale was out of the country." Ryan reported after they had returned to the precinct.

"Which means the passport stamps were forged." Kate replied.

"I'm going to call passport control and have them check the logs." Esposito stated.

"I'm sure they will come back one hundred percent legit," Castle noted, the conversation now turing back into his own area of expertise, "That's not how he would have done it."

"You got a better idea, Rick?" Kate asked, not sure she liked here this was going.

"Second passport," he replied, "under an alias."

"And how would he get one of those?"

"With his money?" he asked rhetorically, "Trust me, on the black market it'd be a piece of cake."

 _'Little does Beckett know I have eight of them for me alone. One at the loft, two at the house in the Hamptons and six more along with as many for Alexis packed with a go bag in a locker at Heathrow International in London."_ he though to himself.

"So he leaves the country on his own, comes back with the other passport, commits murder, flies out and then comes back in on his own."

"Perfect alibi, if you don't look to closely, the perfect murder…" Castle starts but is interrupted.

"…But almost impossible to prove..." Kate adds

"Unless you find the second passport." Castle finishes, both of them staring into each others eyes.

"He's gotta be freaked after your little meet and greet," Ryan offers

"Keep eyes on him." Kate orders, "If he moves, I wanna know."

"This guy killed his own sister in cold blood and two more people to cover it up." Castle said as Kate picked up her phone and dialed an outside line, "He's either a world-class sociopath or there's a lot more to this story than just money."

"Judge Markway, please." Kate stated with cool professionalism.

* * *

The police cars pull up to Harrison Tisdale's apartment complex. Kate's Crown Victoria stopping cleanly at the curb before she sprang out to take command of the scene

"What have we got guys?" she asks.

"Get this," Ryan offered, seemingly very pleased with himself, "junior's business is going under; he's tens of millions in debt."

"With his sister's share of the Tisdale fortune," Castle added, "he stands to pay off his debt and then some."

Before Castle can get out of the passenger side of her car, Beckett grabbed his wrist and handcuffed him to the grab handle above the car door.

"This time you're staying put," Kate stated with a smile before heading up to Harrison Tisdale's apartment door, flanked by uniforms.

* * *

"Harrison Tisdale, NYPD! We have a search warrant!" Kate shouted, pounding on his door.

"Just a minute." Tisdale shouted from the back of the apartment.

"Open the door, Harrison!" Kate bellowed, "Open the door. It's NYPD. We have a warrant!"

* * *

Castle had dispensed with Kate's handcuffs in less than three seconds after she was out of sight, when he saw Harrison Tisdale descending the building's fire escape, clutching a trash bag and gave chase. He had come to far to let the man get away now. He speed dialed Beckett as he moved.

"He's coming down the fire escape."

"He's out back." Kate husked after the door was kicked in, "Cover the front."

She climbed out the window and onto the fire escape just in time to see Tisdale running down the alley with Castle in pursuit.

"Castle! No!"

Castle had slowed down and come around the corner when he felt the 9mm semiautomatic pressed against his ear and the clacking of Kate's heels coming louder before she rounded the corner.

"Stay back! Stay back!" Tisdfale shrieked as he backed away, pulling Castle with him. "Don't come any closer."

"You okay Castle?" Kate asked, trying to get a clean shot as Tisdale, but Castle was too big in comparison.

"Yeah," Castle replied, his voice ice cold, "except psycho here needs a breath mint."

"Shut up!" Tisdale shrieked again

"So what is it Tisdale?" Castle asked coldly, anger boiling from deep within, "You asked your dad for money to save your business and he said no?"

"I was trying to make something of my life and all he cared about was her!" Tisdale spat.

"That's why you killed her, isn't it you son of a bitch!" Castle hissed, "It wasn't just the money. You wanted to punish him before he died, destroy the only thing he loved."

Kate didn't see the dangerous change in Castle's demeanor, the deadly calm that settled over him just like it had right before he'd pulled the trigger twice into the back of Sophia's head.

"Do you have any idea what I would do to have one more day with my mother? What I would give to have my family whole again, if only for a single day?" Castle said without a single shred of human emotion, "And you threw yours away over greed and petty jealousy."

Kate Beckett couldn't possibly have known that this was the same reason Sophia Turner had given for killing his mother, making Alexis watch her die, and then left her alive. So that he would have to watch his little girl suffer, that she would live out the rest of her life with the image of her grandmother bleeding to death in front of her because he hadn't been smart enough, or fast enough, or good enough to save her.

He wasn't punishing Alexis by sending her away to England to go to school, he was punishing himself for his failure as a father to protect his child.

"Who are you?" Tisdale asked incredulously just before Castle exploded into action. Kate never saw it coming, her eyes wide as saucers at how quickly Castle turned the tables.

His elbow shot back into Tisdale's sternum, just before his other hand snapped up and twisted the pistol from the man's grip, noting for half a second that the safety was still on before tossing the pistol aside and pivoting into Tisdale. It took him less than a minute to ruthlessly, savagely take the murdering bastard apart, dropping with a punch to the sternum, then a knee to his face, sending him sprawling into the garbage bags near the fence.

Castle dragged Tisdale to his feet by his collar, stood him against the wall by the throat and cocked his fist back to deliver the killing shot, only to find a hand in the crook of his elbow, bringing him back to himself.

"Don't, Castle," she whispered, "he's not worth it."

Ryan and Esposito surged around the corner moments later as Kate was cuffing Tisdale. Somebody would have to read him his rights after he woke up in the ambulance to be checked over.

"What happened to him?" Esposito asked, to which Kate merely shrugged her shoulders and handed him the gun in an evidence bag.

"Tisdale got the jump on Castle and he defended himself," Kate stated softly, watching Castle as he spoke to his daughter on the phone a few feet away, his expression almost serene. "damnedest thing I ever saw."

* * *

Kate had waited, leaning against the door of her Crown Victoria while Castle gave his statement to the uniforms and to Internal Affairs. She'd had to answer a few hard questions herself in the wake of the Harrison Tisdale arrest. Most notably how she had permitted a civilian to be in harm's way. Though it was clear that he'd won them over. Not an easy feat.

When he'd finally walked back her way, she straightened up and stepped forward to meet him.

"Well, guess this is it." Castle said. "I'm finally free to go."

"Well, it doesn't have to be," Kate replied, "We could go to dinner. Debrief each other."

"Why, Beckett? So I can be another one of your conquests?" he replied, making Kate blush and bite her lip, a hint of mischief cracking through the veneer of his ennui.

"It was nice to meet you, Castle."

Smiling, she turned and walked away with an extra sway in her hips as Castle watched her go with an odd look on his face, just before a small smile creased his lips, the first genuine one in a very long time.

Later on in his apartment after he'd called the headmaster of Alexis boarding school to let them know she would be late returning to school due to a family emergency, he sat down on the couch with his laptop and started writing. The words rushing out of him with little or no effort for the first time in years.

* * *

 **Two weeks later  
12th Precinct Homicide Squad**

Kate poked her head into Captain Montgomery's office. She had just finished filling out her paperwork on a standard pop and drop that had been more Ryan and Esposito's speed than hers when he had called her inside.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" she asked.

"Yeah," he stated clearly, "I just got a call from the mayor's office. Apparently, you have a fan."

"A fan, sir?" she asked, her brow crinkling in confusion.

"Richard Castle." he replied, "Apparently he's started writing again and it seems he's found the main character for his next set of novels. A tough but savvy female detective."

"I'm flattered," Kate replied to this revelation, doing her best to school her rabid fangirl reaction.

"Don't be." Montgomery replied, his eyes full of mischief, "He says he has to do research. He did help solve this case. And when the Mayor's happy, the Commissioner is happy, and when the Commissioner is happy, then I'm happy.

"How long, sir?" Beckett asked.

Montgomery nodded over Beckett's shoulder to indicate Castle, now sitting on the chair next to Beckett's desk, a wan smile of anticipation on his lips that sent a chill up and down her spine. She knew that he was still rather vulnerable, and closed off, but she would do her best not to quash his first attempt to come in from the cold of his self-imposed exile.

"That would be up to him."

* * *

 ****Author's Note** I am going to forgo my usual author's note to address the very disheartening news we all received this past Monday morning. I think as fans we all feel a certain outrage about ABC's decision not to renew the contracts of Stana Katic and Tamala Jones. To have Castle return next fall without both Castle and Beckett makes no sense to me either. But, aside from my usual retweets and postings I have chosen to throw my support behind an effort suggested by Airbefore on Tumblr**

 _ **There are few things more integral to the Castle and Beckett relationship than coffee. Now it's time we take our love the them and their love coffee to the next level. By sending coffee sleeves to ABC's California offices, reminding them that a world without both Castle and Beckett simply does not make sense. You can buy multi-packs of blank coffee sleeves on Amazon or the sleeve off your morning coffee.**_

 _ **Please keep your messages are short, coherent, and positive. (no angry rants or threats please, they will be counter productive) Please remember: This is a coordinated effort to show ABC that we fans are dedicated and invested in keeping #Caskett intact. Please do not rant, or engage in bashing of anyone on the cast and crew. This will do us no good at all**_

 _ **Some suggestions for messages**_

 _ **#SaveCaskett**_

 _ **#Always**_

 _ **a short, positive note on what Beckett and/or the B/C relationship means to you**_

 _ **Package your sleeves up and mail them to the California ABC headquarters:**_

 _ **Disney-ABC Domestic Television  
500 S Buena Vista St  
Burbank, CA 91521  
Attn: Ben Sherwood, Channing Dungey or Patrick Moran **_

_**We can do this, guys. Let's go!  
#SAVECASKETT**_


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